


Give me all that you are

by makesometime



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Impregnation, Pregnancy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new flush to her cheeks at his words that has nothing to do with exertion, a sweet embarrassment at odds with her earlier demands. "And where, pray tell, would you have heard such a thing?"</p>
<p>"I read, Josephine." He teases, smoothing a hand over her spread thigh and down between her legs. "My ambassador has ensured quite the well-stocked library."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give me all that you are

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a prompt at the kinkmeme for Josephine having a deeply held impregnation kink that her Inquisitor finds equally arousing. Roleplay knocking-up ensues!

She finds them on the lower wall overlooking the courtyard, the spirit boy kicking his heels rhythmically against the stonework. There’s a quiet conversation taking place that her ears can't quite pick up, and she would hate to let herself fall so far as to eavesdrop on their private time.

And yet… there’s something so appealing about watching her love like this, quietly paternal, so large in comparison to Cole but so effortlessly gentle, inclusive. It has her inching closer despite herself, wanting to share in the moment of companionship.

"A future. A chance. She wants to grow large with a piece of both of you."

Josephine freezes. Did he just…?

She watches, motionless, as Aran turns his head slowly to look over his shoulder and the fierce heat of her embarrassment could melt a hole clean through the stone beneath her feet. No one was supposed to know her most deeply held dream, _he_ wasn’t supposed to know--.

"A button nose and long dark hair, parted by budding horns. A long forgotten desire suddenly surfaced, a possibility newly considered."

She can barely breathe now, watching as Aran's face morphs from an immediate fear to a cautious hope to settle somewhere near… acceptance?

Surely not.

“Excuse me Cole.” Aran says quietly, but the boy is already gone, sensing the need to escape in much the same way as Josephine is currently fighting the urge to flee.

She watches as Aran pushes to his feet, all of his bulk moving in perfect harmony to draw him upright in a smooth movement. His talents as a rogue are never more apparent than when she watches him move, each tiny contraction of muscle planned to perfection. It’s so tempting to turn from him, to hide her flushed cheeks, but she is stronger than that. Lady Montilyet does not _run_.

“I think we have something to discuss.” Aran says, voice gently reassuring as ever as he reaches out to take her hands in his.

Josephine inhales deeply as his thumbs rub over the backs of her hands, calming and inflaming her worries all at once. “It is a foolish thought.” She says, not quite looking at his face. Her eyes fix somewhere around his jaw even as she feels the weight of his gaze on her. “It cannot be indulged.”

“I agree that perhaps now is not the time.” He says carefully. “I would not risk the wrath of the Montilyets for defiling their eldest…”

Josephine laughs at this, unable to keep the sound from bubbling out of her.

“And yet. It clearly appeals to us both.” He continues, bringing her palms up to press against his chest.

“I can hardly believe we are having this conversation.” The admittance passes her lips without a thought, and she lifts her eyes to his. “But we are, are we not?”

Aran chuckles, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “Decidedly. This is certainly a conversation that we are having.”

“I am taking herbs, you know?” She blurts, her fingers clenching in the material of his shirt as her embarrassment returns. She really should be better at holding her tongue around him by now. “Of course you know, what a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry. I’m panicking. Please feel free to interrupt me at any time.”

She sees him smile as he lowers his head to kiss her panic away, his tongue gently teasing over her lower lip as she melts into the strength of his chest. She hides a smile as his mouth moves across her cheek, up to press against her ear.

“But you won’t always be.”

In that moment she’s entirely certain she’s forgotten how to breathe.

#

Aran knows that she does a lot of research in the following weeks. There's little to suggest a Qunari-human baby is a common thing, but equally nothing to say that it’s impossible. He opts for the quiet life in bowing to her talent for scheduling and order, allowing her to suggest the most appropriate time for their little escapade, to avoid any… unfortunately premature consequences. Something to do with moons and cycles, terms unfamiliar enough to his male perspective that he starts to do his own research as well.

When he complains that such a strict regimen is hardly romantic, Josephine simply laughs and kisses his cheek, promising not to narrow the acceptable timeframe down further than a week. She’ll surprise him then, she says. He’s curious enough to see how she’d manage such a feat to let her try.

It comes on an evening when he’s retired to his room to sort over some of the more dull paperwork, a bottle of something impressive stolen from the stores and sitting at his elbow should it all become a bit too much. 

When he hears the door open without any kind of announcement he assumes it can only be Josephine, and only looks up when she breezes past his desk without stopping. With little more than an absent smile in his direction, she heads straight into one of the alcoves and shuts the door. Aran lays down his quill, leaning back in his chair with a frown.

Even on his scale of peculiar goings-on, that is pretty unusual.

Eventually the door opens, and Josephine emerges from the side room dressed in a diaphanous pale gold robe, the material floating around her as she walks and making her look almost ethereal. It causes his breath to stutter embarrassingly as flashes of her dark skin peek through the finer parts of the robe, the outfit cut low in the chest and split high up each leg. It looks like it must have cost a fortune, but it’s an expense he’s more than willing to support.

Aran pushes his chair back from the desk as she approaches and slowly climbs over his lap, her feet not reaching the floor as she settles.

Her kiss is gentle, searching, tempting and he is happy to lose himself in it for as long as she wants. When she eventually pulls back, colour in her cheeks and a smile on those beautiful lips, he cannot help but smile in return.

"What would you have of me, Lady Montilyet?" He asks, stroking a hand over her back.

"I would have you give me an heir."

As if the truth of what she’s asking has only just occurred, Josephine shivers and gasps, clutching hard at his biceps. Aran grunts at the bolt of hot need that courses through him in response. He moves in to kiss her once more, standing from his chair.

It may all be an act, little more than a charade of their deeply held want. But it fuels every touch of his hands, every sigh from her lips; the thought that one say they'll be doing this for real, one day they will perform this dance again and the end result will be a child.

He cannot hold back a groan as he passes fingers over her slick folds, gently readying her for his size. As he does so he imagines her with a small bundle in her arms, looking out over the gardens of Skyhold, and the wanting is so fierce that he bites at her thigh, tearing a sharp surprised cry from his love. Her hands instinctively reach down to wrap around his horns and Aran fights the urge to thrust into the mattress like a base animal searching for stimulation.

She's ready quickly, eased by a rapid orgasm and the continued press of his fingers deep inside. He knows by now what she needs to accept him, feels the wet grasping of her around his digits and aches with the thought that it'll feel even better wrapped around his cock. 

Aran pulls back, smirking at her needful whimper as she loses his warmth from over her. He settles on his knees, reaching out to take her hand and urge her up and over his thighs once more. She settles with a small smile, legs spread wide as she wraps one of her small hands around him.

The lazy pumping of her hand has him panting, arms firm around her as he hunches over to bury his face in her neck. It's tempting to let her continue, especially as she plays her lips over his jaw and throat, murmuring Antivan all the while.

"If you don't stop that this'll be a wasted effort." He murmurs, drawing a laugh from the woman in his arms. 

She pushes on his shoulders and then curls her palms over them when he straightens, lifting up on her knees. Aran guides her hips down and watches her face contort with desire and a little bit of effort as he slowly sinks inside.

It's never going to be quick without him hurting her, but it feels doubly indulgent tonight, filling her with an aching slowness, each inch sending a ripple of pleasure through them both. Josephine's eyes fell shut long ago but he can't stop himself from watching her, watching the way she bites her lip to hide her satisfied smile, the way her brows knit if she moves just a little too quick.

When he is finally seated inside her she exhales steadily, then opens her eyes to fix on his.

They don't speak, don't need to. Any instruction would be crass, unnecessary. He knows what she wants and she knows he will give it, freely, until he is unable to give anymore.

He allows her to lead, lets her have control over the pace, the angle. His hands spread over her back when she leans away from him to alter how he stretches her, and he ducks his head to suckle at her breasts as they bounce with every thrust.

There is no acting in the way she hastens as sensation grows, the garbled mantra of _yes_ and _Aran_ as he slowly moves into each motion of her hips. Together as one, they work to a more definite conclusion that they have ever has cause to before.

Her pulsing muscles ultimately draw him to the end, large hands clutching at her hips as he thrusts up as much as their position will allow. Josephine collapses into him, gasping and trembling at the force of their union. With a simple urging press of his chest into hers she falls back onto the mattress, chest heaving as she struggles to control her breathing.

Without speaking, Aran keeps a hold of her hips and pulls her closer until her torso is angled up over the thick set of his thighs.

"What... what are you doing?" She asks breathlessly.

"The angle helps the seed take." He says with a small smile. "Or so I heard."

There's a new flush to her cheeks at his words that has nothing to do with exertion, a sweet embarrassment at odds with her earlier demands. "And where, pray tell, would you have heard such a thing?"

"I read, Josephine." He teases, smoothing a hand over her spread thigh and down between her legs. "My ambassador has ensured quite the well-stocked library."

She groans as he parts her folds with a single thick finger (two, she once told him with a hesitant amusement, was equivalent to the largest man she had ever taken). "I was... not aware that such topics were covered."

She grits her teeth as he plays over her clit, circling it twice before delving down to her entrance. He finds an almost obscene amount of fluid starting to gather, both his and her own not inconsiderable arousal, and lazily paints his fingertip with the pearly mixture. With a small smirk he presses his finger in, easing the gathered seed back into her clenching cunt.

Josephine moans his name in a half-desperate oath, bucking into the slow press of his finger. He pulls out and gathers more of his spend to then push back into her eager body.

"Can't waste any." He murmurs, chuckling as she whines something pleading, some missed liquid trickling down to pool on his leg.

"I can't wait to see you quicken." He says quietly, stroking his finger along the front wall of her heat. He spreads his free hand over her lower stomach, fingers nearly reaching the width of her. "Small at first, but growing increasingly large with my child."

Her hips roll an encouraging pattern against his crooked finger, her body starting to tremble anew.

"Your breasts growing heavy and sensitive to my touch." He slides his palm up to cup one dusky mound in his pale hand.

"How...?" She asks, almost gone, almost there.

"I read, Josephine." He reiterates, squeezing her breast until she shakes, crying out softly, muscles pulling at his digit.

" _Please._ " She breathes, reaching out to curl her hand around his wrist. "Don't tease me with impossibilities."

Aran pulls his hand free and places one on either side of her head, leaning over her. Her eyes blink open and show such a depth of emotion, his chest becoming tight at the way her lashes are damp with unshed tears.

"That was not my intention." He assures her, quietly drawing her lips into a gentle kiss. "Merely to suggest an inevitable future."

She looks a little overwhelmed, a million possibilities dancing in her mind’s eye. She’s a planner, organised to a fault. This is a potential outcome that he suspects she has not yet truly accounted for. "Do not make idle promises, Master Adaar."

Aran kisses her a final time, lingering for as long as it takes for her to calm and relax into him, and then rolls onto his back. A hand on her hip draws her to rest half over his chest. "You know I would never lie to you."

Josephine smiles, kissing his chest and stroking a hand over the damp skin of his stomach. His abdominal muscles jump in response and she chuckles lightly. "Very true. In fact, nothing could be more so."

Silence falls for time, their skin cooling in the chill air of his quarters and prompting Josephine to snuggle a little closer to his greater warmth. Eventually, she speaks once more.

"I do not think I realised... quite how much I wanted this until tonight."

The admittance is cautious, but her voice is strong. Her words carry such an honesty and evoke a similarly held emotion in his heart; this moment of fantasy has done little to calm the longing she awoke in him.

Aran strokes her chin with a gentle touch, easing her eyes up to meet his. "I'd give you the world, my love, if you asked for it."

She smiles, a playful sparkle to her eyes. "Perhaps let us start with just a single child, and go from there."

#

Corephyus falls. And despite it all, everyone lives.

Flush with victory, full of the joy of _living_ , Aran and Josephine marry three weeks later on the spot in the gardens that they had snuck away to for so many stolen moments.

Josephine settles into her new role as Lady Adaar, Ambassador of the Inquisition and head of the Montilyet line with all of the grace one would expect. Aran, meanwhile, simply tries to find his place in the world that no longer seems to need an Inquisitor.

Soon enough - too soon - there are whispers from her family; _when should they expect an heir, isn't it really time they started on their own branch of the family tree?_ But Josephine, full of steely resolve, refuses to be rushed. Neither of them are comfortable enough that Thedas won't suddenly descend into chaos around them to bring a child into the world.

It takes time for that comfort to grow, time for it to seem more like a sensible decision and less like a risk. But on the first anniversary of the final battle, Josephine stops taking her herbs.

If he thought it was intoxicating before to play at conceiving a child, the fact that they are now able to do so for real is almost too much to bear. Every time they take to bed, every time she rides him, every time he settles between her thighs. They could be creating life.

There’s no sight more beautiful to him than that of Josephine, flushed from her orgasm, looking somewhat dreamy as she strokes a hand over her lower stomach. He jokes one evening, as he lays his hand over hers, that were it as simple as _willing_ conception they would have a small army of children by now.

But he was right about one thing, all those months ago: his certainty of how gorgeous he would find her as her body changes, adjusts to growing a brand new person. Her curves soften and grow as the first few months pass, as their nervousness settles and the pregnancy takes. When the healer confirms the good news, he is able to worship her new form with the reverence it deserves.

They’re still several months away from meeting their child, and their remaining time will likely be spent arguing over gender, names, upbringings. But it will also be spent in quieter moments, his head resting against her growing belly, listening to her sing Antivan lullabies when the babe refuses to settle. 

And in the end, once they have their dearly longed-for child and the beginnings of their little family, well. 

Then comes the joy of trying once again.


End file.
